The Girl With the Arrows
by oxoxEnchantedxoxo
Summary: We all know and love the boy with the bread, but what about the girl with the arrows? A collection of one-shots from Peeta's perspective from when he first sees Katniss.
1. Stop and Stare

**A/N: **Hey everyone! This is my first attempt at something that is not a one-shot (it's like a bunch of one-shots XD), and even though I have no idea how this is going to turn out, I hope you enjoy it anyways!

**Disclaimer: **(I'm just going to say this once) As much as I wish I did, I don't own any of the characters or places from _The Hunger Games_. Everything belongs to the wonderfully talented Suzanne Collins.

_I can still remember the first time I saw her. It was the first day of school and we were both five years old at the time. That was eleven years ago. Did I know back then just how much she would come to mean to me? No. But even then, I knew that she was different. _

_She was always different. While the other girls would laugh and giggle together, she would just walk by without even so much as a glance in their direction, her shoulders straight and her chin held high. She wasn't afraid to be herself. That was what made her, her, and that was why I loved her._

_..._

_Eleven years ago..._

_..._

"Peeta!" I turn around as I hear my name being called. I see my father standing a little ways away, beckoning me towards him. "You don't want to be left behind!"

Huffing slightly, I run to his side. "I was looking at that tree," I say, pointing towards a towering oak. Its many branches form a canopy over our heads as sunlight illuminates its brilliant red and orange leaves, casting shifting shadows on the ground. "It's so pretty and colorful!" I say reverently.

My father leans down. "That's because it's autumn. Now hurry, you don't want to be late for your first day of school, do you?"

Shaking my head vigorously, I follow him down the path, trying to avoid being jostled by all the people around us. My eyes are open wide in excitement; I have been looking forward to this day for a long time—ever since I had first heard my two older brothers discussing this "school." Now, I'm finally here. A huge grin stretches across my face as I look around.

Many families are standing clustered together around the courtyard, some holding toddlers, others chatting animatedly amongst themselves. All around me, I can see children my age hugging their parents and siblings, their faces lit up with the same nervous anticipation that I feel.

Everyone turns around as a gray haired woman walks out of the building, looking very official in a crisp, gray suit. She says something in a low voice to a small group of people beside her and gestures towards something before she walks back into the building again. Confused, I just stand there as the other kids begin to say goodbye to their parents and siblings.

"It's time to line up now. School's about to begin." My father says, patting me absent-mindedly on the back. He seems distracted, his gaze roving around as if he's looking for something or someone. Apparently, he finds what he's looking for because he pauses and raises an eyebrow. "Peeta," he says, his voice sounding strange.

I look up at him questioningly. "What is it?"

He sets a hand on my shoulder. "See that little girl?" I follow the direction of his nod and see a small family of four. A tall dark haired man and a beautiful blonde woman who is holding a young infant in one hand are hugging a small girl goodbye. It's too far away to tell what the little girl looks like, but from here, I can see that she is wearing a red plaid dress and her dark hair is braided in two plaits down her back.

"I wanted to marry her mother," my father says, "But she ran off with a coal miner."

Staring at the blond lady again, I say incredulously, "A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?" I'm not trying to be mean; I'm just stating the obvious. Even though we are not wealthy, we still have enough money to get by and live a relatively comfortable lifestyle.

My father gives me a tired half-smile, running his hand through his hair before answering. "Because when he sings… even the birds stop to listen."

"Really?" I breathe, turning my gaze to the dark haired man. It still seems odd that she would pick the coal miner over my father, but if he could sing... "I want to hear him!" I say enthusiastically.

Letting out a small chuckle, my father says, "Maybe. Not now. It's time to line up for school. Behave—I'll see you again in the afternoon." And with that, he turns his back on me and begins walking away.

Sighing, I stare at his retreating back. My father isn't someone who wastes his time on unnecessary words, but just this once, I wish that he could've stayed a bit longer to say goodbye to me. Sure, I'm excited, but at the same time, I'm a bit nervous too. This is all so new, and having a familiar face around is comforting. However, I'm glad that it was my father who dropped me off, and not my mother. She's always snapping at me or my brothers, and once, I even saw her hit one of them.

I let out another small sigh and start heading towards the place where the lady in gray indicated that we should line up, feeling empty inside. There's no one to talk to—all the other children are preoccupied, standing in line and talking together in small groups, but I don't know any of them. I spot the dark haired girl wearing the red plaid dress again. Like me, she is standing by herself and seems lost. I'm in my middle of debating whether or not I should go over and talk to her before someone interrupts me from my thoughts.

"Hi!" a voice chirps from beside me.

I turn around and see a boy my own age with fair hair and mischievous brown eyes grinning at me. "Hi." I say shyly.

"Is this your first day too? Because this is mine! Aren't you so excited? I know I am! My name is Rian! What's yours?" He says this all very quickly and loudly.

Blinking once, I reply hesitantly. "My name's Peeta. This is my first day of school too."

"Really?" Rian's smile gets even wider if that is possible. "Hi Peeta! Let's be friends!"

"Okay!" I smile back, deciding that Rian is nice and I like him. "So do you know what we're supposed to be doing right now?"

Rian looks thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I know that we're lining up right now, and we're supposed to have a music assembly next. My dad said that the music assembly was supposed to help make us more comfortable here." He grins impishly, "But I told my dad that I'm already comfortable here! There are no parents around, so I can't get in trouble!"

I laugh. "Do you get in trouble a lot?"

Shrugging, Riansays, "I suppose. But that's only because my mommy is always in such a bad mood."

"My mommy is mean too. She's always shouting at me."

"Yes. All mommies are mean and shout a lot." Rian says solemnly. "Daddies are nice!"

Quickly, I shake my head. "No, sometimes my mommy is nice!" I say earnestly.

"But that's only sometimes," Rian points out.

"Oh." I say knowledgeably. I'm beginning to like Rian a lot. He seems very smart.

"Look!" Rian says suddenly. "The line is moving! I bet it's time for the music assembly now!"

We both look forward eagerly and follow everyone else inside. I am slightly disappointed. The interior of the school is rather like the outside—rough-hewn gray stone with a few windows scattered around the corridors to let in some light. I shiver.

"Are you cold?" Rian asks curiously.

"Not really," I reply, shaking my head. "But this place is." Not in the literal sense. It just seems so... unwelcoming—like no one has ever taken the time to decorate this place and make it more cheerful.

"So you're cold? 'Cuz my mommy made me bring an extra jacket even though I told her that I didn't need one. You can borrow it if you want!"

I shake my head again. "No, never mind, but thank you." I say. Sensing that he is still confused, I deliberately change the subject. "I think we're almost there!"

Sure enough, we step out into an extremely large room a moment later. It is exactly like the rest of the school—gray, hard and cold. The lady dressed in gray tells us all to sit down. She herself remains standing next to a stool.

"Welcome to this school. We are pleased that you are here. We hope that you are comfortable…" the lady dressed in gray drones on and on in a monotonous voice. It's not long until all the children begin zoning her out and looking bored. Rian and I glance at each other, and he rolls his eyes in the direction of the lady in the gray and sticks out his tongue. I smile, which prompts him to wrinkle his nose at her as well. Before long, Rian and I have completely forgotten about the assembly and are instead taking turns to make faces at each other.

"Our goals are to help each and every one of you and educate you in the ways of—will you two boys over there please stop making those horrible faces?" the lady's voice sharpens, and Rian and I both look over at her guiltily. I can see that everyone's faces are turned toward us, so I duck my head down, my ears burning. Rian gives them all a cheeky smile and waves.

The lady shakes her head, and continues on. "As I was saying before, we are here to help you and educate you in the ways of..." Soon, everyone begins tuning her out again.

"Whew!" Rian sighs. "That was close! See, I told you we couldn't get in trouble here!"

"Yes, but let's try to not do it again." I whisper. Rian nods.

The lady in gray, who I now know is called "the prin-ci-pal," introduces someone new to us and leaves. Apparently, the new person is the music teacher, and for the next few hours, this music teacher makes us sing song after countless song. She claims that this will help us be more comfortable and get to know each other better. Privately, I think to myself that the only thing all these songs are doing are making me desperately want some water. I look over at Rian, and I see that he too looks bored.

"Good job everyone!" the teacher says brightly. I think she's trying to sound encouraging, but instead, she sounds like one of those people from the Capitol with their strange accents and colorful appearances.

"Now, it's time for the valley song! Does anyone know the valley song?" she pauses, and a hand shoots into the air. It's the small girl with the red plaid dress.

"You know the song? Why don't you come on up and sing if for us?" the teacher says, patting the stool next to her. Needing no further encouragement, the little girl springs right up and climbs on top of the stool.

By now, I'm interested. I wonder if she has a good voice too, like her father.

Taking a deep breath, the girl begins to sing. The room falls silent.

Now I'm not going to lie and say that she has the voice of an angel, because she doesn't. Her voice is good, but it isn't great. It's still childish, but it's charming. She misses some of the high notes, but she makes up for it with the passion in her voice. You can hear it in the way she sings and see it in the intense look in her eyes. Time does not stop and the sun and stars do not align, but everyone does grow completely quiet. It's impossible to not be enthralled by her song.

Like everyone else, I am so caught up in her song that it takes me a while to realize that she is close enough now that I can actually see her face. She has dark hair, wide gray eyes and olive skin. Right away, I know that she is different. It's in the way she holds herself, the way that her eyes are so intense even when she's singing. She's pretty, but her voice is what captivates me the most.

I want to close my eyes, to just let her voice wash over me, but I can't. I can't tear my gaze from her face. She has everyone else under her spell too; hanging onto her every word, unable to look away. I know that the end of the song is fast approaching, but I can't help but wish that the song would go on forever. Her voice becomes almost unbearably sweet and sad as the song draws to a close, her last note hanging in the air before finally fading away.

There is a deafening silence. I notice that even the birds outside the window have fallen silent. It's almost like they understand how sacred this moment is.

Finally, someone begins clapping. The noise soon grows into a thunderous roar as everyone stands up and follows their example.

"Not bad," Rian shouts over the applause. I nod, my eyes still on her.

Through all of this, I still haven't torn my gaze away from her face. In this moment, I finally understand how her mother must have felt when she first heard the coal miner sing. It doesn't even matter that I don't even know her name, but in this moment, I do know that just like her mother, I am a goner as well.

And it's as if she can sense my thoughts, because although the entire audience is on their feet applauding her, she turns around and looks straight at me.

* * *

So what do you think? Should I continue? I'd appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism!


	2. Not So Typical

**A/N: **Hi again! Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! I really appreciate it :) Oh, and I forgot to mention that the name of the last chapter is that awesome song from One Republic that you know you want to listen too! lol so sorry about that. So, here's the next chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

_We were five when I first saw her, when I first realized just how far gone I was. Ever since then, I had been trying without success to work up the courage to talk to her. It probably never occurred to her that every time we would pass each other in the hallways at school, I was struggling with myself to come up with something—anything, really— to say. But every time, without fail, I would end up backing out. I was busy, she was busy, there wasn't enough time… it was always something to that effect. I knew that they were excuses, but I just wasn't ready to face her._

_Six years later, six years of trying to persuade myself to talk to her, I finally had my first real encounter with her. We were both eleven. I will remember that day forever, and I know that she will too, but for a different reason._

…

_Five years ago…_

…

Today is a very depressing day.

Don't get me wrong—usually, I try to look on the bright side of things, but try as I might, there is just nothing good I can say about today. The sky is gray, and it is raining—hard. Instead of falling down normally, it seems as if the rain is determined to bear down in icy sheets, soaking whoever is unfortunate enough to get caught in the downpour. In other words, it's just a typical rainy day in District 12.

Inside the bakery, it's a lot warmer, but my mother is in a bad mood—most likely because of the rain. The harsh weather will have driven away most of our usual customers, and without anyone to try and impress, she has become irritable and grumpy. Then again, she's always irritable and grumpy, but it's even worse today. She isn't the friendliest person to begin with, but when she's in an especially bad mood, she's downright horrible.

To be fair, my mother hasn't always been like this. I can just barely remember a time when things were better, when she still smiled and laughed. Even then, things were tense between her and my father, but she at least tried to be there for me and my brothers. I guess the years and my father's continued indifference toward her wore down her tolerance. When she's angry or being unreasonable, I try to remember that it is hard for her too, to be married to a man who does not love her, but at times like this, it's difficult.

"You! Hurry! Put that batch of dough in the oven!" my mother snaps at me, her finger pointing to two pans of dough that have already risen. My eyes snap open and I obligingly do as she says. It's my turn to help out in the bakery, and I'm determined to do a good job, even if it means getting yelled at by my mother.

_Yep, just another typical rainy day_… I think as I carefully balance the two trays of pastries in the scorching oven, being careful not to burn myself.

"You there!" my mother screeches again as I close the oven door. I look up, thinking that she is talking to me again, but her back is turned to me. She's speaking to someone outside.

"Get out! Move on! Do you want me to call the Peacekeepers?" she continues, glaring out the back kitchen door. "God knows that we deserve a bit of peace around here! But no, you brats from the Seam always show up, pawing through my trash! I'm sick of it!" Cautiously, I peek out from behind her back and my heart nearly stops.

It's _her_.

She looks horrible. Wearing a jacket that is much too big for her, she is soaking wet and miserable. Even from here, I can see how frighteningly thin she is. Her skin is pulled taunt over her prominent cheekbones, and too many days of not having enough to eat have given her eyes an empty, hollow look. This is what scares me the most. Usually, she looks so proud and defiant, like she's not afraid of anything or anyone. Now, it looks as if she carries the burden of the entire world on her frail shoulders. They are hunched forward as she slowly makes her way behind a pen holding our equally miserable looking pig, and collapses under our old apple tree. She looks so broken and defeated that I know I have to do something.

Turning around, I quickly scan the kitchen. My eyes fall upon two loaves of bread, still warm from the oven, just happening to be resting on a table near the open fire. What I am about to do will make my mother furious, and will probably earn me a slap or two, but no matter. _She's_ out there starving to death while I'm inside with a warm place to sleep at night and food on the table—even if it's always stale. A slap or two I can take.

Casting a quick, furtive glance at my mother to make sure her back is turned, I move toward the platter of bread, and carelessly knock it over. The surprisingly heavy platter falls to the ground with a loud _crash_ and the two loaves of bread tumble into the fire. My mother whirls around at the abrupt noise, her eyes falling on the fallen platter. Slowly, her gaze moves to the burning bread before settling on me.

Neither of us say anything for a few moments, and fleetingly, I wonder if this was a bad idea. _No. _I quickly brush the errant thought away. _It's for _her. _I'm doing this for her. It'll be worth it._

"Go get it." My mother's deceptively soft voice breaks the silence.

Avoiding her gaze, I hurriedly use the tongs lying next to the fireplace to quickly poke the loaves out and scoop them into my arms. To my relief, they aren't too badly burned, but my relief is short-lived as I see the fury in my mother's eyes. I nervously take a step back.

"You fool!" she shouts suddenly. "We raised you better than this! Look at how clumsy you are, just letting the bread fall into the fire like that! Perfectly good bread!" my mother pauses for breath, her nostrils flaring angrily. I brace myself, waiting for the blow to fall.

"No one will buy it now! And just look at the weather! Absolutely appalling! We need all the customers we can get, and what do you do? You _burn the bread!_" she yells as she slaps me across my face. My cheek stings, but I just stand there, refusing to cry or flinch. _It'll be worth it, it'll be worth it..._

"Feed it to the pig!" she orders, pointing the whisk in her hand toward the door. I duck my head and hurry out, the two loaves of barely burned bread cradled in my hands. My plan is going perfectly—this is exactly what I wanted her to say. Now I have an excuse to go outside, and while my mother isn't looking, I can toss _her_ the bread. She needs it far more than we do.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" my mother screams from behind me. Her voice is muffled by the rain that relentlessly hammers down, soaking my clothes instantly, but I ignore it. Instead, I focus on the two loaves of bread in my arms, still hot from the fire, warming my soaking arms as I reach the pig pen. Our pig looks up at me expectantly as I draw closer, no doubt smelling the enticing aroma of the bread. _I'm sorry,_ I apologize silently as I tear off a piece of bread. _The rest of this bread is about to end up elsewhere, but I promise I'll come back and feed you later._

I can feel _her_ gaze on me as I tear off another burned chunk of bread and toss it into the trough. She has been watching me ever since I stepped outside, but I refuse to acknowledge her presence. Now, I just need to wait until my mother is distracted…

I hear the front bakery bell ring, and I know my mother is probably rushing to answer it, elated at the prospect of business in this foul weather. A quick glance back in the kitchen tells me that I'm right. Straightening up and still refusing to look at her, I toss the two loaves in her direction and without waiting to see her reaction, turn around and begin trudging my way back toward the bakery. My heart is beating loudly in my chest and there are a million half-formed thoughts running through my mind, but I don't dare look back.

Once I reach the safe confines bakery, I close the kitchen door securely behind me and let out a sigh of relief that turns into a frown as I look down at the mud dripping from my shoes. Just one more thing for my mother to yell at me for. Shrugging, I carefully make my way towards the bathroom to wash off the mud, a warm feeling in my chest. And despite the fact that I am shivering and soaked to the bone, there is a small smile on my face. _Maybe today wasn't so typical after all._

* * *

Okay? Bad? I'd love to hear your opinions! I have a vague idea of where I want this story to go, but I'm still open to any new ideas if you guys want me to do any particular scenes, although I can't guarantee anything. By the way, do any of you know about how long they were in the arena? Thanks! See you guys next time!


	3. And May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor!

**A/N: **Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys are awesome :) I had some difficulty writing this chapter, due to the fact that my friend currently has my copy of _The Hunger Games,_ so I hope you can excuse any mistakes or inconsistencies there may be.

So _Mockingjay _comes out today! To anyone who has a copy (because sadly, I have yet to get my hands on one), how is it? And who does Katniss end up with? Actually wait, don't answer that ^_^

* * *

_So I gave her the bread. _

_In doing so, I had risked my mother's wrath, but looking back, it was worth it. There was a warm feeling in my chest every time my thoughts wandered back to that day, and no one could take that feeling away._

_Something in our relationship changed that dreary, rainy day. We still never talked, although I would sometimes see her glance in my direction in the hallway… but whenever she caught me looking at her, I always ended up quickly looking away, too shy to hold her gaze for long. It didn't help that we barely had any classes together, even though I fervently wished we did so I would be able to spend more time with her._

_Little did I know that my wish was about to be granted—that I would be spending the next few weeks of my life with her… but what I didn't know was that we would be in a bloody arena with twenty-two other people out for our blood—literally. Let the games begin._

…

_Six weeks ago…_

…

"How much for the squirrel?"

I awake to a voice conversing in hushed tones with my father. _Must be another customer… _I think groggily, still half asleep. This isn't anything out of the ordinary—oftentimes, our customers will come early in the morning when the bread is still fresh from the oven. Closing my eyes again and stifling a yawn, I roll over and pull the thin blankets over my head before I realize what today is.

Reaping day.

My eyes fly open and I vault out of bed, all signs of tiredness gone. How could I forget? I've spent the last couple months—along with everything else in District 12—dreading this day. Today is the day that the names of two unlucky kids will be drawn to compete in the Hunger Games. Anyone's name can be drawn if they are between the ages of twelve and eighteen, and the possibility of my name being drawn is very real, and very frightening… but what will frighten me even more is if _her _name is drawn.

Quickly pulling on a nice light blue shirt and simple black trousers, I hurry downstairs just as my father rounds the corner.

"You're up early," he remarks when he sees me.

I shrug sheepishly. "I couldn't sleep. Not after I remembered what today is." I admit. "Do you need any help setting up the shop? Now that I'm awake, I might as well help."

"You should eat something first." My father holds up a squirrel. "I gave the young man a loaf of bread for it. I thought he might appreciate it. After all, you know what today is…" His voice trails off.

I nod in agreement. "Who was it?" I ask, but I already know the answer.

"Her hunting partner." he says, and something about the way he says "her" has me wondering how much he really knows about the "her" in question.

"His squirrels aren't as neat as hers though. She always shoots them straight in the eye—no unnecessary blood." My father continues, looking down at the squirrel. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen." He turns around and walks away.

I sit down heavily on the foot of the stairs. If my father knows who _she _is, then he most definitely will know who _he _is. Her best friend. Her hunting partner. Gale Hawthorne.

There is a heavy feeling in my chest. It's not jealousy—I've gotten over that particular feeling a long time ago. It's dull acceptance. He makes her happy. He's good-looking, a decent hunter, and he obviously likes her as well. Why wouldn't she like him back? When I first figured out that she had been hunting illegally in the woods—where else could she have gotten all those squirrels from?—and that she was hunting with _him_ no less, I admit, I was jealous. How could I not be? But then, I began seeing how content she looked. She never smiled at school, but I had no doubt that she smiled when she was with him—when she was hunting with him. Who was I to be jealous? If he was what she wanted, then so be it. I couldn't bring myself to hate someone who made her happy.

The succulent aroma of cooking squirrel wafts under my nose, distracting me from my thoughts. Shaking my head slightly, I slowly get up and head toward the kitchen. On the table is an entire plate of muffins. There is even a pitcher of milk next to it.

"Are these fresh?" I asked, surprised.

My father looks over and nods. "Something special for today." He walks over and places the plate with the cooked squirrel down. "Here."

Neither of us say anything as we finish eating, leaving several muffins and half of a squirrel left for my mother and my brothers. Still silent, I help my father set up the shop. There are not many people outside, and the few customers that we do get all look drained and haggard.

I finish wrapping up a loaf of bread for the anxious woman who is waiting. She constantly casts concerned glances at the pale boy next to her, who can't be much older than twelve. I recognize the look, and I can't help but ask him quietly, "So is this your first reaping?"

He looks up, his eyes wide. Glancing at his mother, he nods his head shyly. Something in my chest tightens. I still remember my very first reaping, how terrified and nervous I was. I can only imagine what this boy must also be going through…

Seeing the dejected look on his face, I impulsively grab another loaf of bread and slip it into the bag before handing it to the woman. She looks surprised, but whispers and grateful, "Thank you." As they turn to leave, the boy gives me a tentative smile, which I return.

There is a painful feeling in my chest as I turn around and meet my father's gaze. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, but he just shakes his head. "Why don't you head out now? I can manage the shop on my own until your mother and your brothers come down."

I begin to protest half-heartedly, but my father just smiles and says, "Go on. I know you need some time on your own. I'll see you at the reaping."

"All right," I say tiredly. As usual, he's right. My encounter with the little boy has made unpleasant memories of my own first reaping stir, and I just need some time by myself to clear my mind. I grab a muffin on my way out, and quietly close the door so I don't disturb my mother or brothers.

Once I am outside, I let out a sigh of relief and inhale deeply. The cool morning air washes over me and helps to calm me down. Most of the shops are open now, probably because most of the people are too nervous about the reaping to sleep in. Even if they are too old to have their names drawn, many have children or know people whose names are in danger of being drawn to participate in the Hunger Games.

My eyes narrow slightly at the thought of the Hunger Games. The rules of the Hunger Games are as simple as they are vicious. Every year, two tributes from each district—one boy and one girl—are chosen to participate. Once their names get drawn, it's pretty much the beginning of the end. Thrown together in an enclosed arena, the twenty-four tributes are forced to fight each other to the death. The last one alive is the victor and is allowed to return to their district, showered with wealth and gifts. No one spares another thought for the grieving families of the twenty-three other tributes that have fought and died in the arena. It makes me sick, and the only thing that I can hope for, for the unfortunate kids and their families, is that their deaths will be painless and quick.

_Two people I know could be dead within weeks…_

I spend the rest of the morning meandering around the empty streets, watching as they slowly fill up with people. The threat of the reaping ceremony looms like a black thundercloud overhead, casting its shadow on all the people in the vicinity. Everyone talks in low, hushed voice today, as if they are afraid to draw attention to themselves.

As one o'clock rolls by, I eat the muffin I brought along and begin heading towards the square where the reaping is being held. The square is surrounded by shops, and despite the bright banners and cameras they have posted around the building, there is a grim feel to it. It doesn't help that no one is smiling or laughing—the people gathered here are all pale and silent, despite the fact that they are dressed in the finest clothes they own. We all just want to get it over with.

I sign in and head toward the roped off area that is for the sixteen-year-olds. The square is already quite crowded, and it's hard to move without bumping into someone. Looking around, I spot the rest of my family and some of my friends from school. I start to head in their direction, navigating my way through the throngs of people but before I can reach them, the clock strikes two and the mayor takes his place on the podium. Pausing, I turn my attention to the stage.

On the stage is a podium, two large glass balls resting innocently on a small table—one which contains the names of the boys and the other which contains the names of the girls—and three chairs, two of which are unoccupied. One of the chairs is for the mayor, and another is for Effie Trinket, who is District 12's escort from the Capitol. Like all the people from the Capitol, she is dressed strangely, with bright pink hair that clashes horribly with her spring green suit. The third unoccupied seat is for Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving Hunger Games victor from District 12. Of course, we've only had two victors total, so that's not really saying much.

The mayor begins reading his speech, but I don't pay attention. It took me about two years to figure out that he reads the exact same speech every year—copied word for word. He talks about the history of Panem and explains the rules of the Hunger Games. Just as he's reading the list of past District 12 victors, Haymitch Abernathy makes his grand entrance.

It's hard to believe that he has won the Hunger Games before. He's heavily drunk right now, a middle-aged man with a potbelly, possibly from drinking too much beer and wine. Staggering onstage, he shouts something as he collapses into the third chair. He seems befuddled as the crowd gives him his customary applause and attempts to engulf Effie Trinket in a big hug. She barely manages to scoot away in time.

I laugh softly, knowing that the entire population of Panem can see this. The mayor does not look amused and tries to advert the audiences' attention from the Haymitch's drunk antics by introducing Effie Trinket, who despite having just barely escaped from Haymitch's drunken hug, bounces over to the podium and gives her usual speech about how honored she is to be here, as well as her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" But she is finished quickly, and it's time for the drawing.

The entire audience holds a collective breath as Effie Trinket crosses the stage and reaches into the glass ball with the girls' names, her hand grasping for a slip of paper. She withdraws one, and walks back to the podium. I can't help but notice that her pink wig is slightly askew as she reads out the name.

_Please let it not be her_, I pray, closing my eyes.

"Primrose Everdeen!" she calls.

I silently let out the breath I have been holding, a wave of relief washing over me. _It's not her… _but then, my eyes snap open in horror. Everdeen. _Everdeen_. It's not her, all right.

It's her sister.

Instinctively, my eyes search for her in the crowd of sixteen year olds, waiting for her reaction. It seems to take her a moment to process what has happened, before realization finally dawns in her eyes. She staggers back into someone else, but she hardly seems to notice, too busy staring toward the stage in horror and shock. I follow her stunned gaze and see a small, pale looking twelve-year-old girl walking stiffly towards the stage. _She's only twelve_, I think desperately. _She's too young_. The audience is talking amongst themselves as well, unhappy at the unfairness of a twelve year old's name being drawn.

Her sister has just reached the stage when a strangled cry makes everyone turn their heads.

"Prim!"

It's her… I turn, like everyone else, and see her running toward the stage, toward her sister. The crowd moves, allowing her a clear path forward.

"Prim!" She cries again. Once she reaches the stage, she pushes her sister back and gasps out, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

There is a ringing silence.

My heart nearly stops. No. _No. _That's the only thing my shocked brain can register. _No. No. No. _The Hunger Games are brutal. True, she might last longer than her twelve year old sister, but she still has no chance of winning. She'll die. I draw in a deep, ragged breath as my hands clench at my sides. She can't die. I won't allow it.

The next thing I know, everyone is touching the three middle fingers of their left hands to their lips and holding it out to her. My throat tightens. This is a rarely used gesture that means thanks and admiration. Goodbye to someone you love.

It cannot be more obvious. Everyone is surprised that she volunteered, but it is clear that she has earned their respect. Few would go so far as to volunteer for a family member—love and loyalty can only run so deep. What she has just done is highly unusual.

There's an awkward silence but Haymitch breaks it as he staggers toward her crying, "Look at her. Look at this one!" He throws an arm carelessly across her shoulders. "I like her! Lots of…" Here, he pauses for what seems like an eternity while he tries to think of the right word. "Spunk!" he finally cries out jubilantly. I probably would have laughed were the situation not so dire. He has no idea…

"More than you! More than you!" he continues, releasing her shoulders and drunkenly walking toward the cameras, pointing directly into them. Could he possibly be addressing the Capitol? I raise my eyebrows, but Haymitch chooses this moment to take a spectacular dive off the stage and knocks himself unconscious. All the cameras are trained on him—as well as the eyes of everyone else in Panem, who are probably falling off their seats laughing—but my eyes are trained solely on her. I see her shoulders shake slightly before she composes herself, holding her hands stiffly behind her back, her gray eyes staring straight ahead.

She looks so beautiful today, clad in a lovely blue dress with matching shoes, her hair braided in an elegant but simple way. Her expression is blank, and I can't help but wonder what she is thinking. She must really love her sister a lot to volunteer for her…

"What an exciting day!" Effie Trinket's bubbly voice gets everyone's attention again. She sounds as sickeningly cheerful and upbeat as ever.

"But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She has one hand on her now very noticeably lopsided wig, and the other is snatching the first slip of paper she touches. I don't even have time prepare myself and hope that it isn't me before Effie Trinket is back on the podium and calling out the name on the slip.

"Peeta Mellark!"

_Oh no._


	4. The Games Have Begun

**_A/N: _**Ahh I can't apologize enough for being gone so long! It's been almost a year, but between school and getting ready to move, I've barely had any time to write. But enough excuses—here's the next chappie! I hope you guys like it and once again, thank you to anyone who reviewed and to everyone who's reading right now (and to the people who are reading right now, reviews or even constructive critisism reallyyy make my day and encourage me to write more, hint hint XP)!

* * *

_To say that I was shocked would be the understatement of the year. Everyone braces themselves on reaping day—expecting the worse— but that doesn't make it any less shocking to hear Effie Trinket calling out your name in that obscenely cheerful way of hers. I couldn't believe it, but I forced my shocked limbs to move. _

_And before I knew it, I was onstage. Onstage with _her.

_We shook hands, and dimly, in a corner of my still shocked brain, I registered that was the first time I had ever had any physical contact with her. Her hands were clammy and shaking slightly, their smallness belying the hidden strength that was in them. She was strong, but was she strong enough to survive the brutality of the Hunger Games? I wasn't sure, which was why in that instant, I vowed that I would do everything in my power to protect her, even if it cost me my life._

_The next few weeks were a blur. We were on a train heading towards the Capitol—towards our doom—and for the first time in sixteen years, I talked to her, got to know her, and fell even more in love with her… it was like a dream. She almost made me forget why we were in the Capitol in the first place, but all too soon, reality settled in, cold and unforgiving._

_Too bad it decided to settle in so late, because by that point, the beginning of the end had already begun …_

…

_In the arena…_

…

"Just remember—stay calm." Portia tells me. She sounds anything but calm as her hands flutter about—straightening my collar, dusting a piece of lint off my thin black jacket. I catch her hands, stilling them.

"You should listen to your own advice." I say to her, smiling slightly. "Don't worry. I'll be fine." _As long as _she _will be fine as well, _I add silently. But Portia doesn't need to know that. Her brow is furrowed and her mouth is drawn in worry, and for a split second, she reminds me of my own mother. Except, of course, my mother would never look that worried over me.

For a second, I let memories of my family wash over me. I wonder what they feel like, back at home right now. My brothers are probably glued in front of our small television, anxious—though they would never admit it—to know if I'm all right. My father will most likely drop in occasionally too, hovering about until his work calls him back. My mother though… she probably hasn't even noticed that I'm gone. Absently, I trace over the hard lump that is the tracking device they inserted into my arm.

"Peeta?" Portia's voice snaps me out of my reverie. I look at her questioningly.

"You seem distracted. Is everything all right?" she presses on.

I fight the inexplicable urge to laugh. _Sure, _I want to tell her._ I'm about to be locked up in an arena with twenty-two, maybe twenty-three other people who want to kill me. Oh, and I'm supposed to be killing them too, except the one girl I've been madly in love with since forever is here as well, and I've promised myself that I'll do anything it takes to get her out of here alive—which includes sacrificing myself. Everything's going great! _But the words die on my tongue when I see how truly worried she seems for me.

"As all right as I'll ever be," I say instead. She still doesn't seem convinced.

"Is this about…" she trails off. She doesn't need to finish—her cautious tone says it all.

This time, I do give a hollow laugh. "Isn't it always about her?" I ask rhetorically, because, to be honest, it is. Everything I've done to this point—and everything I'm about to do—is going to be for her sake.

And she still doesn't know.

Portia still looks worried. "Peeta—" she begins, but she is cut off by a female voice that announces it's time for the launch. In a far corner of my mind, I note how ironic it is that the voice sounds so pleasant, as if it isn't telling twenty-four people to prepare for their more-than-likely demise. As I walk over to the metal cylinder that will take me to the arena, Portia grabs my arm.

"Peeta," she says more urgently. "Don't sacrifice yourself for nothing. You deserve as much as anyone to win too." And she's looking at me so intently that for a wild second, I think that she has guessed that I never really planned on staying alive. And so what if she had?

"I'm sorry Portia, but as long as only one person can win, it's not going to be me." The unspoken meaning of my words hung in the following silence. _It's going to be _her.

Portia lets go of my arm and steps back, looking away. "I'm still going to be rooting for you." She says quietly. And something about the way she says it brings back all the fear and anxiety that I have been trying so hard to repress. Suddenly, I'm terrified. I'm about to enter the arena. I'm about to face at least twenty-two other tributes out for blood. I'm about to throw away my life for the girl I love.

Is it really worth it?

But as her face appears in my mind—dark hair and determined gray eyes—my resolve strengthens again. My terror and doubts fade away to be replaced by a strangely blank calmness. This is something I have to do. This is something I _need _to do.

"Goodbye Portia. Thank you for everything." I finally say sincerely, this time offering her a genuine smile, although I know that Portia knows that our conversation hasn't changed anything. I'm still going in with the same purpose as before: to guarantee _her _safety_. _

Almost as if reading my mind, the metal cylinder I'm in begins to rise as soon as the words leave my mouth. My last sight is Portia's face, trying desperately to stop her tears from flowing, before blackness obscures my vision. The temporary darkness is unsettling and just as I'm starting to get restless, I feel myself being pushed out of the metal cylinder and into an open area—the arena. Sunlight blinds me for a moment, and while I'm still disoriented, I hear Claudius Templesmith's voice ring out.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The countdown has begun.

We have sixty seconds to take in our surroundings before the gong that signifies the true beginning of all the action sounds.

_Fifty-five more seconds…_

Right in front of me is the Cornucopia—twenty feet high, shining and golden. Packed in the mouth of the horn and overflowing out onto the surrounding ground are food, weapons and many other useful items, their importance decreasing as they get farther away from the actual horn.

_Fifty more seconds…_

We are arranged in a circle around the hard-packed ground of the Cornucopia. To my left is a lake, and across from me is a lush green patch of woods. Behind me is a steep drop-off, leading to who knows where.

_Forty-five more seconds…_

The terror and panic I should be feeling still haven't fully registered in my brain yet. I feel strangely detached from everything, as if I'm simply observing from afar and not actually here in the arena. It's a rather strange sensation.

_Forty more seconds…_

The hulking tribute to my right shifts impatiently. I remember him from training—District 2 and muscular, his deadly skill with a spear completely unrivaled. His District partner has the same skill with throwing knives. Together, they will be the ones to watch.

_Thirty-five more seconds…_

District 2 scans our surroundings, and before I can turn back around, his glaring green gaze meets mine. He glares at me a moment longer, his lip curling, before he turns his gaze hungrily back to the Cornucopia—or more specifically, an elaborately carved, but heavy looking spear, its wickedly sharp blade glinting in the sunlight. The huge muscles in his arms ripple as he clenches his hands, shifting into an almost crouch, a predatory look gleaming in his eyes.

_Thirty more seconds more seconds…_

Distantly, I wonder if he will fall off his circle. If he did, then the land mines would take care of him. It's a highly unlikely possibility, but it's happened before. The last time someone was that clumsy, the Gamekeepers spent hours scraping up his insides. More recently, a girl only dropped her district token and even then, she got blown into smithereens.

_Twenty-five more seconds…_

District 2 shifts again. He clearly wants that spear, but he's not the only tribute eyeing a weapon. His partner's licking her lips and smiling, eyeing a pack of razor-sharp throwing knives.

_Twenty more seconds…_

_She _is five tributes to my left. There is a calculating look in her eyes as she stares at something near the mouth at the Cornucopia. I can't quite see what it is, but judging from her longing look, I have a pretty good idea.

_Fifteen more seconds…_

If she risks her life just to get a bow and arrows_… _I shake my head, praying to every god and deity I know that she will notice. _Don't do it. It's not worth risking your life for. _Then suddenly, something registers in my mind.

_Ten more seconds…_

This is really it. The Hunger Games. Adrenaline begins to pump through my veins as I finally realize that this isn't a dream. My whole body tenses up as the realization begins to set in. And all this while, she still hasn't glanced my way.

_Seven seconds…_

I'm shaking now. My chest rises and falls unevenly, my breaths rapid and shallow. Every muscle in my body is poised to—fight? Run? I don't know. My palms feel sweaty all of a sudden. I try to relax my muscles, but I can't. She still hasn't looked up.

_Five seconds…_

The seconds tick by, agonizingly slow. She's still staring at the ground near the Cornucopia with a contemplative frown on her face. My panic begins to build.

_Four seconds…_

I want to scream at her—the bow isn't worth it. She needs to save herself.

_Three seconds…_

She still hasn't looked up.

_Two seconds…_

Someone up there must have been listening, because she finally—_finally!_—jerks her head up. She finally looks in my direction and I have just enough time to fleetingly register the confused look on her face when—

_CLANG! _The gong rings.

The games have begun.


	5. Stung

**A/N: **Hi again! I think this is the fastest I've ever gotten a chapter up, so I'm pretty happy, lol. I noticed my last chapter didn't get that many reviews, so I was just wondering why. Please note I'm not trying to sound unappreciative or ungrateful (and I'm sorry if I'm coming across that way), but I'm honestly wondering if there was anything wrong with it? If there is, I'd really appreciate it if you guys could let me know :) But meanwhile, thank you to the people who did review! You guys really make my day and are what keep me updating! And now onto this chapter!

Oh yeah! I was also wondering if you guys had any suggestions for where this story might go. I'm running out of ideas, so I might end it soon... I'm not sure yet. And _now _onto this chapter!

* * *

_It was a bit strange actually, to be allies with the very people that I loathed. Cato, Clove, Glimmer, Marvel… but what choice did I have? I had to protect _her. _Had to make sure they weren't hunting her down. Of course, I wasn't looking forward to her reaction when she found out who I had been allying myself with, but no matter. She would be safe, and that was all that mattered._

_Haymitch was the only one who knew what I was doing. I had made it clear since the first day that my top priority was to protect her, to ensure that she got out of the arena alive. It didn't matter what it took, as long as she was safe. She was strong and capable, but I was still afraid for her, which is why I told Haymitch about my plan and made him promise me that he would do all that he could to help her._

_The Careers would be her greatest threat. To eliminate that threat, I would befriend them, pretend to be their allies. Get them to trust me. And once they did, I would be the first to know if they had any plans to kill her. If they did, I could warn her. If they didn't… well, then I could pick them off one by one. Until I got caught. And was killed. But I didn't think about that._

_Half of my plan worked. _

_Once the games started, I managed to find the Careers and persuade them that I could be useful. But it all went downhill from there. They were determined to kill her, the lowly District 12 girl who managed to beat all their training scores. Nothing I said could deter them and it only made them even more suspicious about my intentions. So there was nothing for me to do but to hope I got lucky and they wouldn't find her… but luck has a strange way of vanishing when you depend too much upon it, doesn't it?_

…

_In the arena…_

…

Pain.

White-hot, blinding pain. One minute I'm sound asleep, the next, it's everywhere—drowning me, suffocating me—there is no escape. The air is filled with what look like gleaming golden bees.

_Tracker jackers._

A memory resurfaces, from when I was much younger. Sneaking out into the forest surrounding District 12 with my sketchpad, seeing that golden hive, getting stung—the resulting pain and the beating my mother gave me when I got home was enough to keep me away from the forest for good. Last night, I noticed the same, distinctively buzzing nest, but I paid it no heed.

_It must be _her _doing._

Desperately, I try to find her in this mad tangle of bodies, but between the pain and the scrambling forms of the other Careers, she is nowhere to be found.

"To the lake!" I hear Cato's growl behind me. He's staggering forward, his arms held up to protect his face. That's a surprisingly good idea, coming from him. Maybe behind all those hulking muscles, he really does have a brain… but right now is no time to wonder about Cato's mental capacity—not when there are far more pressing matters at hand.

"To the lake!" I agree, and raise my voice so the others can hear me. "To the lake!" My cry is taken up by the others, and stumbling, we run as best we can back in the direction we came. From behind us, my blood runs cold as I hear agonized cries for help. What if they're _hers_? I almost can't bear the thought. Half-blind, I try to look back to see if she is all right, but the bodies behind me push me along, obscuring my view and making it impossible to go back.

The insistent buzzing of the tracker jackers has not yet faded, which means they are still right behind us. Their hum is easily drowned out by all the noise we're making as we crash through the undergrowth. Surely we can't be that far from the lake? If it is much farther, the tracker jackers will overtake us and—I stop my train of thought.

A cannon sounds, signifying someone has died. I pray that it isn't her. To my left, the girl from District 4 stumbles and falls. She hits the ground, twitches and is still. Her entire body is swollen, covered in enormous tracker jacker stings oozing green pus. I lunge toward her, trying to pull her up, but then Cato is there, ramming his shoulder into me. I stumble back as he yells at me, "Idiot! We need to get out of here. Don't worry about her—she's as good as dead!" And his tone has me wondering which _her _he's talking about, the girl from Four or…

Another cannon sounds. Four is dead.

The lake is now in sight, barely discernable through the thick tangle of trees. We're almost there. A strong wave of pain from the area right below my ear nearly sends me sprawling, but I force my legs to move on. Something grabs at my foot just as I'm about to jump in, and I look down to see that we're standing on a writhing mass of purple smoke. The smoke around my feet solidifies into several large snakes, many already beginning to wind their way up my legs. Another opens its mouth wide and hisses at me, beady eyes glinting malevolently. I give a shout of surprise as I topple backwards, my flailing hands brushing against something wet. The lake! Rolling over, I completely submerge myself in the cool water.

Relief.

When I finally come up for air, I see that the tracker jackers are nowhere in sight and the ground is back to normal. The purple smoke and the snakes must have been hallucinations generated by the tracker jackers' venom. Closing my eyes, I sink back into the water. The pain of my sting has faded away to a dull ache, and even if the relief is only temporary, I try to soak it in as much as possible. I would like nothing better to stay in the lake's cool protection, but the water has cleared the fog from my brain, and now, the only thing I can think about is _her. _I have to go back to make sure she is all right.

My muscles give a cry of protest as I resurface. Pain from my sting flares up sharply and a sudden tiredness nearly overwhelms me, but I am determined to get back. Rivulets of water stream off my drenched clothes as I pull myself away from the lake, one torturous step at a time. Glancing looking down momentarily, I become aware of something I have gripped tightly in my hand. My spear. Apparently I have kept a hold on it this entire time. Gritting my teeth, I use it as a crutch to pull me forward. As I'm about to enter the cover of the trees, I look back, praying that no one will follow me. However, Clove catches my gaze, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

She paddles closer to me, her derisive voice ringing out, "Where do you think you're going, Lover Boy?"

I groan inwardly as all the Careers turn to look at me. Trying to keep my voice indifferent, I say, "Just checking to see if the tracker jackers have really gone."

"Oh?" Clove arches a brow, not bothering to disguise the disbelief in her voice. "Really? Then I'm coming with you." My heart sinks as she hauls herself out of the water.

"I'm coming too." Cato breaks in. He shoots a glance at Clove. "We don't know if it's really safe yet." She rolls her eyes.

I can tell that they both don't believe me, a thought that is only confirmed when Cato looks at me and adds, "And we can check to see if that District 12 girl is still alive. If the tracker jackers didn't get her, then I will." The other Careers murmur their approval, and I watch in dismay as all they begin to leave the lake.

"I'll scout ahead," I offered, not giving them a chance to reply as I turn and begin running as best I can toward the tracker jacker nest. Annoyed shouts come from behind me, but I don't look back. _I have to warn her…_

I'm already out of breath, my sting throbbing painfully. The sound of pursuit reaches my ears, and risking a backwards glance, I see Cato crashing through the trees. I have to stop him somehow. Hefting my spear, I begin to take aim, but I stop myself. Cato isn't the only one behind me. Even if I stop him, the others will still catch up. Turning forward again, I double my pace. Branches whip my face and ensnarl my clothes, but I ignore it all. Only one thought remains, and it is for _her _safety. If she has any sense at all, then she will already be gone, but I have to check.

Finally, I burst through the trees, my spear still raised. But my arm drops as I see _her _in the middle of the clearing. Glimmer's bow is in her hand, and it looks as if she was trying to aim for me.

"What are you still doing here?" A myriad of emotions sweep through me, making my voice a lot harsher than I had intended. Relief that she is still alive, shock that she is still here, and fear because I know the other Careers are coming. She has to leave.

But she's just staring at me, her eyes unfocused. That's when I notice the angry lumps on her cheek, her neck, and who knows where else. I begin prodding her with the shaft of my spear. "Are you mad?" I demand. "Get up! Get up!" It's even more urgent that she gets away now. She's in no condition to face Cato and the other Careers. Even now, I can already hear them getting closer and closer to us.

She's rising, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Cato coming toward us, using his sword to slash away at the branches. I push her away roughly. "Run!" I yell at her. "Run!"

Turning, and hoping that she's lucid enough to understand that she has to get away, I turn to face Cato. He's drenched and has a tracker jacker sting right underneath his eye, but he's smiling maniacally. Brandishing his sword, he bares his teeth at me. "Think you can stop me, District 12?" he sneers. "I've never trusted you. And now, I will gladly kill you. Prepare to die!"

He swings his sword in a wide arc towards me, which I dodge. The tracker jacker venom must be making him clumsy—I've seen enough of what he can do with that sword firsthand to know that I am lucky to have even escaped that first swing.

Thrusting my spear toward his unprotected side, I taunt, "Never trusted me? Took you long enough to do something about it." He twists and brings his sword up, easily deflecting my blow. He follows with a smooth downward stroke, which I barely manage to catch with my spear. But even then, the force behind that swing leaves my hands numb.

"Well, I'm doing something about it now," he growls, as he wrenches the spear from my hands. I'm cornered now, and he knows it. "Any last words?" he smiles mockingly as he raises his sword.

Narrowing my eyes, I shoot back, "These won't be my last words. And even if they were, you aren't fit to hear them."

His face twists in rage as he savagely drives his sword down. A blinding pain erupts from my left leg, much sharper than any tracker jacker sting could be. Cato's voice reaches me from far away.

"And _you _aren't fit to die a quick death. I hope you enjoy having your life bleeding out slowly, drop by drop." He spits at my feet and backs away, limping slightly. His bloodstained sword is swinging by his side—almost casually. Distantly, I think I can hear him beginning to greet the other Careers.

My vision is starting to waver alarmingly, but I fight it back. I have to get away from here… to somewhere the Careers won't find me. Pushing myself off the ground, I try to get up, but the pain in my leg forces me back down. It feels as if I am moving in slow motion as I stretch out a hand to find something—anything—that will help me. My fingers touch something warm and slightly sticky, and I recoil weakly. Bringing my hand back, I see it covered in something shockingly red. _My blood? _I bring my hand back up, staring uncomprehendingly at it. My vision is beginning to go black, so I let my hand drop, too weak to fight it.

_Is this what dying feels like?_ I wonder groggily. Then maybe it isn't that bad after all. The pain seems so distant it doesn't take much to ignore it… and if I really am dying, then at least I will have died trying to protect _her_.

_Then… I'm glad…_

And the last thing I see before the blackness closes in and drags me under is her face…


	6. Her Eyes

**_A/N: _**Hey guys, I'm back again! And hopefully I haven't been away for too long this time, lol. This chapter is a little on the short side, but I hope you guys enjoy it regardless :) The title of this chapter is loosely based off of one of my favorite songs from the play _The Secret Garden _(I actually haven't read the book, but it's a great play and if you guys haven't seen it yet, then you really should! lol). Kudos to anyone who can guess the original song!

And as always, thank you to those of you who reviewed and left ideas for where this story could go! I really appreciate it :)

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_She found me. I don't when or how, but she found me. _

_After my fight with Cato, I knew I had to get away as quickly as possible. The pain in my leg was excruciating and there were times when I thought I wasn't going to make it, but I pressed on. I knew I would need water, so I followed a small stream that led away from the clearing as best I could, not daring to stop until thought I was far enough away to be relatively safe for the night. Only then did I allow myself to collapse near the stream. Muddy and surrounded by rocks, it was perfect. So I settled in and began the arduous process of camouflaging myself into the stream's weed-covered banks…_

_Originally, I had only planned to stay there for maybe a day or so—until I could do something about my leg—but I didn't anticipate how much worse I would feel the next day, let alone the fever I developed that very night. One day turned into two, and after that, they all seemed to blend together into a burning haze of alternating pain and numbness. Towards the end, I remember seeing her face again. At the time, I didn't know if I was dreaming or hallucinating, but suddenly, she was _there_. Really there. Right in front of my disbelieving eyes._

_And that's when I knew everything was going to be okay._

…

_In the arena…_

…

The sky is gray again today, a stark contrast to a couple of days ago when it was still blue and sunny. I guess it's not surprising, considering how much the Gamemakers have been lowering the temperature in the arena lately. Normally, I don't think I would even notice this strange change in weather, except I've been stuck in this cave for the past few days, with nothing to do except stare out at the gloomy sky. I should be out there helping her, but I can't. Not with my leg like this. Blood poisoning… who would've guessed? Cato would probably be laughing if he knew.

Today, the sky happens to be the exact same shade as her eyes. Gray… sharp, turbulent, with an almost underlying coldness. I've always wondered about the last one; is it because she grew up in the Seam? It's a tough place for anyone to grow up in, and the ones who do almost always have a perpetually cagey and wary look about them that never quite goes away.

But whatever the reason, I want to find out why. Why she gets that look whenever she thinks I'm not paying attention. Why no matter how happy she seems, that _look _always comes back without fail. That cold, haunted look…

I want to find out why she looks like that after she kisses me.

The first time she kissed me was to get me quiet. Needless to say, it worked. I was shocked, ecstatic, and more than a little dazed. It suddenly didn't matter that we were in the middle of the Hunger Games arena, surrounded by people who wanted to kill us. It didn't matter that the entire population of Panem—including our families—was probably gawking at us from in front of their television screens. The rest of the world seemed to just melt away until all that was left was the feeling of her lips on mine. It all seemed too good to be true.

But even though I was half delirious from my fever, I still remember catching a hint of that _look_ again before she ducked outside. It wasn't the look someone wore after kissing their—friend? Lover?—it was… different. Troubled, maybe? I couldn't figure it out at the time, and when she came in with a pot of hot broth, all my thoughts except the ones of _her _were wiped completely from my mind. And I would've forgotten about it, but it happened again. And again, and again. Something just wasn't adding up…

I shake my head firmly, not wanting to dwell on the dark turn my thoughts have taken. There's no point in thinking these negative things; I should be counting my blessings and being grateful that we're both still alive. And I am.

These past few days have been complete bliss, better than anything in my wildest dreams. The talking, the teasing, the kissing… I've learned more about her in these last couple of days than in the past sixteen years I've known her. I know that she gets this soft, distant look in her eyes when she talks about her family, particularly her little sister. I know she's a horrible liar and that when she is lying, she bites her lip and looks anywhere but my face. I know the only time she looks completely peaceful is when she's asleep.

In fact, when she's asleep, her whole demeanor seems to change. Gone is the drawn look about her face, the worried furrow of her brows, and the customary scowl that usually mars her face. Of course, that scowl immediately came back when I teased her about it when she woke up, but it was worth it. Just thinking about that memory again brings a smile to my face. _She still doesn't know the affect she has on people…_

"I've brought you a treat." A familiar voice says, causing me to look up.

The entrance of the cave rustles as she pushes her way in. A warm feeling rushes over me when I see her, a feeling that I can't help but think I will never get used to, not even I see her every day until I die—which, considering my injury, might actually be sooner rather than later. I give her a tentative smile, searching her eyes for any hint of the anger she still might be feeling since our last, brief argument. To my relief, there is none. I'm afraid she will still feel resentful towards me for not letting her go to the feast, but I'm not about to let her risk her life for me, not when it should be the other way around.

"I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream," she continues, smiling slightly and showing me the mixture of mashed-up berries and what looks like mint. She rummages around for a spoon and uses it to scoop up some of the berries, bringing it to my lips. Despite knowing this is another ploy to get me to eat more, I open my mouth obediently and swallow.

"They're very sweet," I say, frowning slightly. Something about their taste nags at the corner of my brain.

"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them." She gives me another spoonful. "Haven't you ever had them before?"

"No," I say. Sugar berries? I've never heard of them. "But they taste familiar… sugar berries?" I ask again. Maybe I know them by a different name.

"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," she says carelessly, as she gives me another mouthful. Too carelessly. I swallow. The berries seem to stick in my throat. _This taste… I know it._

"They're sweet as syrup," I saw around another spoonful. "Syrup." My eyes widen, and suddenly, I know.

No wonder the taste is so familiar. The berries are laced with sleep syrup.

Sleep syrup is commonly used as a medicine in District 12. Everyone probably knows the taste. Its sickly sweetness brings back flashes of memories from when I came down with a high fever during my first week of school.

Nighttime. A pale full moon outside. I had no idea what was happening. So _hot, _yet I was shivering. My brothers clustered around my bed, eyes huge—scared. Voices. Loud, abrasive, _burning._ My father storming out of the room, my mother screaming at his retreating back. Losing consciousness. Nightmares.

Then when I awoke, my father was sitting there beside my bed holding a damp cloth to my forehead. I couldn't see my mother or brothers anywhere, and when I tried to ask about them, my father gently shushed me and handed me a vial.

"_So you can sleep."_

And now, ten years later, the very same syrup is sliding down my throat again. No wonder the taste seemed familiar.

_Betrayal._

I try to spit it out, but she's already there, anticipating my actions, her hand clamped tightly around my nose and mouth. No amount of thrashing on my part can get her to release her grip. I have no choice but to swallow. Seeing this, she relaxes her grip on me and begins to remove her hand. Shoving it away, I immediately double over, trying to make myself cough it back up, although I know my efforts will be in vain. How many spoonfuls have I already swallowed? Three? Four? Maybe even five? But I have to try.

_She promised she wouldn't go._

The sleeping syrup is beginning to take effect. I can feel myself begin to lose consciousness. My arms, my legs, I can't move them anymore. My eyelids are getting droopy and it's getting increasingly hard to stay awake when all I want to do is succumb to the darkness. I know I should be furious at her for doing this—and at Haymitch for helping her! After all, where else could she have gotten the syrup?—but I'm just… too tired…

She's watching me, her eyes pained but not regretful. Summoning up my last ounce of energy and determination, I try to convey my final thoughts in my glare—fury, betrayal, the promise of retribution when she comes back… and then I slump back, unable to fight the overwhelming drowsiness. My last conscious thought is of just how _tired _I am… before my own eyes finally slide shut in relief, lost in dreams of eyes as gray as the sky outside…


End file.
